


Secret Of The Kings

by ChaosX97



Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Mystery, Other, Suspense, Treasure Hunting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9168082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosX97/pseuds/ChaosX97
Summary: It's another heist pulled off when Sly and the gang are issued a challenge, learning of 'a treasure greater than any other.' At first, it looks to be the Cooper Gang's next big adventure, taking them around the world with new and unexpected allies to face some of the most dangerous criminals in existence.But secrets lie all around, including a dark truth about the Cooper lineage, and the lines between friend and foe are made unclear. Sly Cooper may just learn along the way that some secrets are better left unsaid.





	1. Prologue Pt.1

Paris, a city of many sides, offering many treasures.

An elegant city, built with an eye for beauty from its gothic styled buildings and monuments to its balcony-spotted luxury homes and tree lined boulevards. A city of fine cuisine and art where patrons sipped wine before the works of the greatest artistic hands of the ages. A city of fashion, where godly garments and haute couture could be spotted on any person walking a sidewalk like a runway. A city of romance, blossomed between any two in the span of a single day. No tourist description or postcard could do its picturesque magnificence justice.

Every road sparkled, every pebble glittered; no wonder it was referred to as The City of Light. Yet as any with eyes could tell, the brightest lights cast dark shadows.

There was no treasure on Earth, let alone the city of Paris, that existed without a thief willing to steal it. If anyone hoped to sleep at all with their feathery beds of wealth intact, they would have to deal with noise from helicopters and police cars vigilantly scanning the streets for criminals lying in wait.

How sad for them that criminals were a crafty bunch and found a workaround.

There was a casino hotel on the western side of the city; its erotic woman-shaped neon sign looked able to reach its hands out and snatch every penny from every entering gambler. Its ringing slot machines, cluttered card tables, and spinning roulette wheels were all just veiled claws raking in coin from suckers looking for a quick fill for their wallets.

Any casino like it was just the same, the moment people entered, they made themselves part of a dangerous game with little to gain and much to lose. But in places like this, late at night, the thrill of the game was near tangible. It was easily mistaken for the cigar smoke or thick perfume intoxicating the room in spite of the active fans. Any gambling done here was done half-minded but not half-hearted, as victory was no more tempting than here.

Sadly, sounds of victorious laughter here were few and far-between. This casino had several rumors surrounding it that the machines were heavily rigged, leaving players with slim chances for winnings. The employees at the card tables were said to have cards up their sleeve, but players never caught so much as a single stray flick of the wrist. Too many violations of gaming law to count, yet the lawyers behind the place kept it all safely tucked under Interpol's nose.

From a balcony above came the owner of the casino, a weasel that looked as the full definition of gaudy. Dressed in a gaudy suit with a golden tooth flashed from his arrogant smirk, with rings on every finger and a smoking cigar in mouth. He perked up his ears, honing them with gleefully rapt attention for the sound of every machine at work.

"Hear that, Jerry?" He spoke to a rat standing behind him in a gangster-esque voice. "That's the sound of sweet, sweet moolah comin in."

"Uh, it's Terry, sir."

"Whatever… how's the profits this month? Plenty o' zeroes, I hope."

"Well, sir." He pulled out a tablet and typed at the screen. "'S looking like we lost a few thousand in the last couple of weeks."

The weasel crunched the butt of his cigar. "What'cha tryin ta tell me, Gary? 'Cause it don't sound too much like 'big bucks.'"

"Ah, Terry, sir… and well, Mr. Benedict, our loss of profits might be because Interpol doubling down on its investigations are getting people to buy into the rumors about the casino."

"Feh, mess with a few machines to hold out on winnings and suddenly you're a criminal." He spit out a puff of smoke. "What kinda world we livin' in, Barry?"

"Terry."

"Don't care."

"Mr. Benedict, at this rate it won't be long before Interpol finds out what we're up to. What… you're up to."

"Uh-uh," said Benedict with his cigar out and pointing towards the rat. "You ain't jumpin' ship. Just keep yer tail on. I pay my lawyers good money; they'll keep all this under wraps."

"Thank god I'm no lawyer…" Terry muttered stuffing his tablet away.

"Now den. All my guys know dat if there's one thing I hate, it's havin' a light wallet. So, what can we do ta get business boomin' round here?" Benedict smoked. "I'm thinkin' 'infomercial:' get some hot chicks, dress 'em up Broadway-style, and then we get ta the good stuff!"

"Yeah, that sounds cheap…"

The weasel's eye and whiskers twitched. "You got a better idea, Harry?"

"Terry."

"Still don't care."

"Well, sir, for a more cost-effective idea, we could always-" The rat's voice was cut off by an abrupt beep from the device attached to his ear. "Yes?... What? Could you possibly be a little more specific than 'suspicious activity?"

Those last two words caught Benedict's attention. A former underling for one of the local mob bosses, his status and success were not obtained without tears, sweat, and sacrifice, specifically scraping for favors from numerous thugs. Most of these favors had already been paid off or the ones asking were now rotting in cells. He had wisely urged himself to form a sixth sense when fate had turned fickle and some came deciding to collect again for whatever reason.

"I don't really think I should have to remind you of your job description as head of security! If there's someone lurking around a restricted area, shoot first, ask questions later!"

The men on the other line obeyed and soon enough the casino became more like a prison on high alert. Security guards dressed in all black were scattered about the grounds, stoic as though the demeanor was a job requirement. Every entrance and exit was blocked by a quickly-filled wall of bodies. Blinding spotlights were aimed directly into the night sky as if to rip patches of light through the star-dotted darkness.

Such a rise in activity gave alert to the people still inside the casino, pausing their futile efforts at every table to rake in their chips. Every last one looked around believing any one of them could spot the source of the disturbance.

"We got a problem, Larry?"

"Terry."

"Seriously, do I look like I give a damn?" He angrily asked. "Wanna tell me why security decided ta give ya a ring?"

"Well, sir." Terry gulped. "It appears security spotted an intruder in the treasure room. Good news is, he didn't get any of the money, just some briefcase."

"WHAT!? He got my case?" Benedict yanked the earpiece out of his assistant's ear and all but screamed. "This here's the boss. Find the rat what tried ta take my briefcase and gun him down! You got me!? Gun him!"

Dashing through the shadows by then, perfectly concealed, said source jumped across the overhead lights without so much as a single creak from the fixtures. Such a being so versed in the ways of stealth was practically invisible to normal eyes, appearing as no more than a blur amongst the forests of light and color. All that gave hint to their presence and caused them to tense was the sound of the rushing wind, the only moving thing in a room where even time had begun to stand still.

At the end of the room, with the silver aura of the moon behind him, he rose to his full height and his beast-like features morphed into those of a man, revealed to no one in particular. From his blue shirt and boots atop his lean furry muscle and ringed tail, to the hard wood cane that glinted a simple gold gleam and the cap that covered his head. And the piercing daredevil gaze and triumphant smile that came with his prize, a small briefcase, safely in hand.

And with a catlike leap from his position, he was gone.

The raccoon thief caught the rope of a chandelier as he descended then flipped over to another light. He twirled his cane in hand as a small beep came in from his own earpiece. _"Cyber Wiz to Shadow Hawk,"_ came a hushed nasally voice from the other end. _"Come in, Shadow Hawk. Do you read me, over?"_

"You really need to cut back on the spy stuff, it's starting to look like an addiction." Joked the raccoon in a suave tone.

_"Excuse me? I never hear you complaining on movie night!"_

"Nor do you hear me coming up with dumb code names. Seriously, Shadow Hawk?"

_"Whatever, Sly!"_ The voice shouted in frustration. _"Just tell me you got what we came here for."_

"Do you even have to ask, Bentley?" Sly's confirming knock on the metal shell of the case gave Bentley's ears the proof he needed. "Security around this thing was pretty weak, too. It's like ol' Benedict left a note saying, 'please rob me!'"

_"Well, now that he's got all his guards on patrol, you'll definitely be getting some excitement. Be sure to stick to the plan and meet me and Murray at the rendezvous point."_

"Aw, come on! You can't expect a master thief to walk out of a ritzy place like this with just a briefcase! The night's young, pal, and seeing as how our weasel friend is in such a generous mood…"

_"You know we're only here for the briefcase, Sly! Just this once, let's quit while we're ahead!"_

"Not really our style." Sly shrugged.

_"Alright, clearly it once again falls on me to deliver to you the proper incentive. Take a listen to this."_ At that point, Bentley's voice disappeared, replaced with garbled static that varied in volume making Sly cringe. There were clear signs of a conversation going on, yet only bits and fragments of speech came across." 'Suspect,' 'disturbance,' 'west side,' 'Cooper Gang.' _"That is the admittedly obscure sound of Interpol hot on our tails, a hundred cops and their now standard issue shock pistols strong. So unless the idea of a law-enforcing legion looking to drag you to the slammer in chains is by some disturbed stretch of the imagination appealing to you-"_

"What can I say? I'm irresistible."

_"For crying out loud, get moving! We'll provide support from our ends."_

"Copy that, Wiz." Sly humorously saluted. "Hawk taking flight, over and out."

_"Now you go along with it..."_

Sly shut off his communicator and proceeded to leap across the lights with such cursive agility and grace, a feather's touch would have caused greater disturbance. With his cane stretched far he grabbed high-up ledges and swung across the hanging cables. Each effortless movement he made seemed to come with centuries of rehearsed refinement negating any physical law that raised its voice against it.

_"Sly!"_ Came in Bentley's voice from the earpiece again. _"Looks like Murray managed to get most of the security looking the other way. You should be all clear to head out."_

The master thief had landed perfectly on a single point on a flashing structure when the call came in after an Olympic-class backflip. He offered a quick "thanks, pal" and proceeded down a row of similar structures, hitting their points within the split second their lights came alive. As soon as he leapt atop a wide balcony, he locked on to the passage with ‘EXIT’ above it in large flashing letters past a flimsy barricade of velvet rope and a small row of stairs.

The raccoon dropped down from the railing and strolled down with a happy tune whistled from his lips. His tail’s twitch at the presence of danger was gone, lifting his spirits at the apparent ease. But Sly had a way of knowing when things were easy because he made it that way, or when it strangely was too easy.

"HOLD IT!"

And almost from out of nowhere, two security guards ran out from the sides. They came armed with beat sticks coursing with electricity, like lightning bolts in their firm grips. Sly dropped the happy tune with a slow whistle, looking snide when another guard dropped behind him from the next story.

"Bentley, do we need to have a word about your interpretation of 'all clear?'"

_"Sorry… ol' Benedict's a little more paranoid than I thought…"_

From the upper level came the weasel in question along with his assistant. He gave a toothy wild-eye smirk down at Sly and puffed from his cigar. "Well, well, well, ain't this somethin' fer late night news? Folks'll be pretty impressed hearin' my joint got a visit from the Sly Cooper."

"I wouldn’t go sticking that on any billboards, pal." Sly mocked. "My gang and I have a bit of a theme when it comes to what we do."

"He has a point, sir." Terry said from behind.

"Shut it, Mary."

"SERIOUSLY!? That's a woman's name!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know how you and your buddies operate." Benedict ignored his associate as he smoked out a large plume from his cigar, the fire in the tobacco still lit as he put it aside. "But, no, I'm thinkin' they hear this is where Sly Cooper bit the dirt, an' I practically got me a national landmark on my hands!"

"Yeah, 'cause nothing says 'tourist magnet' like a corpse…" Sly deadpanned.

"But, I tell ya what?" The weasel leaned down onto the railing with his past nerves dispelled, like all the cards were in his hand. Oh, how many of Sly's opponent's in the past had made the same mistake. "You give me back that there briefcase and we go our separate ways. Live an' let live, right? Fuggetaboutit. I might even cover fer yer mangy hide when yer lady friend at Interpol comes a shootin'…"

"Hey, next to getting the goods, that's my favorite part of the job! Although…"

Sly popped his cane hard on the ground to issue the challenge with the crack upon the hard floor. At the instant it returned to his hand, he shot free into a quadruple-leap flowing freely in midair landing precisely onto the charging lead guard's stone shoulders. It added to his frustration when Sly dodged the ribbons of voltage surging from his flailing stick by purposeful hairs, twirling and dancing with old-timey poise. He ducked limbo low beneath another swing with a smile flashed at his victim's face and hooked his cane onto the guard's uniform. A leap backward followed with the momentum launching the guard upward and down hard onto the ground, unconscious and groaning.

"This comes as a close third." Sly smiled giving a tilt of his cap with his cane's hook to show his daring glare.

Benedict growled, biting his cigar so hard it fell to the floor. "DON'T JUST STAND DERE, YA MOOKS! GET HIM!"

The remaining guards charged at him, their sticks raised high in near slow-motion. The electricity flashed dangerously, almost coursing through their very arms, adding to their swings. Sly gave a mildly interested grin. Deadliness was part of the appeal, he always thought.

His cane brought the guard's arm down, and a whack to his face followed by a swift kick to his midsection brought the rest of him tumbling after. His stick came into contact with the guard behind him, electrocuting him and knocking him out. A third guard came running to Sly's mere stroll forward, but the raccoon's single handled cane casually swiped from under his feet, tripping him. He bonked him once with the hook, then again with the end, and ended with a reach into the guard's pockets just as he fell limp. His airborne wallet landed right into Sly's gloved palm just as he collapsed.

"Thank you for your generous donation, Mr. Benedict." He said storing the wallet away into a red pouch on his left leg and raised the briefcase again. "Every little bit helps."

"GAAAAAHH!" Benedict screamed and grabbed his assistant by his collar. "YOU! Get every guard down here now! I want that raccoon dead, you hear me!? DEAD!"

"Y-Yes, sir!"

Sly took that as his cue to exit. He back flipped up onto a nearby light fixture, then up again to the third level. The two watched as the thief escaped through an open exit right behind him. "As they say in Paris, au revoir."

"YOU AIN'T GETTING' AWAY THAT EASY, COOPER!"

* * *

 

The back room that Sly escaped to was nothing like the lit room behind him. A dance floor of lavish decor for the rampant waltzes of joy and greed was all just a heavily financed façade for this stark reality. Thick murk keeping even one's hand out of sight, with grungy grease-coated pipes behind protective fences humming and sucking heat away from the glamorous casino floor below. Flickering lights above one's head would only expose the grimy environment for a second before darkness overtook the senses again. Sly mentally gave blessings to his species' natural night-vision abilities, like seeing the truth past the glitter and glamour.

According to Bentley's layout, he was near the back computer rooms where numbers were crunched and finances kept in check. The exit wasn't much further. Just a run around and he would be back near the front.

"Bentley, I'm in the back room," Sly chimed in. "Got a heads-up on any trouble?"

_"I've hacked into the cameras. Looks like Benedict's got every nook and cranny covered by guards, and they're packing more than just sticks this time!"_

"I see what you mean." Sly had been running down steps and through the hall throughout the entire conversation. He thrust himself behind a nearby crate when he noticed an armed guard at the end of a hallway. "Think that big brain of yours could lend a helping thought?"

_"I'll do you one better."_

An explosion sounded nearby, frighteningly loud even with all the walls muffling the sound. The guard was so startled his rifle fell from his hand and ran towards the source. Sly watched his retreating figure and shook his head with a smile. "That Bentley… always gotta do things big…"

* * *

 

Sly's friend in question walked, or more accurately rolled out of the smoke caused by his distracting detonation. Given how close the turtle man was when he set the bombs to blow up the building HVAC, his safari outfit and technologically enhanced wheelchair only suffered light coatings of dust that he brushed away. He gave his pith helmet and glasses slight adjustments and scooted behind a wall before any of the janitors or guards could catch him.

The pipe-lined room Bentley wheeled through had little difference to Sly's dungeon-like pathway, the sole exception being better lighting. The littered tarps and tools lying around staining a floor of solidified dirt made the area no more sinister than it was just messy, and Bentley, having moved through sewers and underground hideaways, knew messy. He was just glad that this time, he was dealing with decade-old dust and the occasional whiff of dead-rat, and not the unmistakable eau de latrine.

A keyboard of light appeared on his lap and a screen popped open at his side displaying a map of the area. "The things I do for love…" Bentley muttered. "Alright, Sly, just sit tight. I've got Benedict's hoard thinned out a bit, but there's still some trouble on your side."

_"Eh, I need to catch up on the comics anyway."_

Bentley shook his head and rolled down the stairs quickly but with memorized navigation. He ducked behind a wall just as the guards passed by. Robotic limbs emerged from the back of his chair, their digits spreading out and locking into place around a small hole in the center. He took aim processing equations and angles of trajectory in milliseconds, and with a click the darts fired, striking the guards and knocking them out cold.

"Technology, what would I do without you?" Bentley said chuckling as he rolled away.

_"Stop the presses, you sound like you're enjoying yourself."_

"What in the name of Newton's Third Law could lead you to make an assumption like that?"

_"Wasn't that your 'I sleep-darted some moron' chuckle? Sure, it sounds like your 'I can do advanced calculous in my sleep' guffaw but you learn to pick up on those distinctive tones."_

Bentley sighed. "You know me like a book."

Sly raised an interesting point if only as a joke. Sometimes, the boldness with which he could perform such actions as incapacitating a person was startling. There was once a time where, as the resident brain, his talents were best put to use behind a computer screen in whatever hole served as their temporary hideout. It helped as the unstable road of their career in thievery provided challenges that forced him out of his comfort zone. The resulting experience took his nerves and common criminal elements and assembled them into a time-tested system.

He continued down towards a seemingly empty hallway. Nothing but a wide stretch forward across cement so coated in dust and footprints it blended into one muddy color in between two poster-littered walls. A welcome pause in the gauntlet, for some. But Bentley's glasses weren't so rose-colored as to believe it.

Questioning what lied on the surface made up the prime core of knowledge in his opinion, especially when failing to do had led to some of the greatest setbacks in his own life. More than his genius, he thought solemnly, had been tested throughout the years when those variables presented themselves. The surprise twists that led to his physical confinement left with nothing but his gadgetry and steeled resolve made preparation and doubt all but virtues.

"Ah, an invisible laser array." He noticed with the infrared display of his computerized binoculars, the Cooper Gang's invaluable Binocucom. "Nice try, but you can't trick a turtle."

With technology as his beacon, Bentley swerved and scooted past the grid. The wheels of his chair slid low allowing him to duck, jumped up with that little bit of turbo juice, and the arms grabbed him by the waist tossing him up high. It made him feel like a lump of dough or rag doll being tossed. His wheelchair actually had such a defect once when he first upgraded it, but like all other glitches, Bentley found a way to make it work.

He made it to the end of the hall and found the elevator. Rather archaic with those gated bars, and definitely creaky once he got it working, but it got him down to the lower level well enough. The door to the computer room down below was flung open with all the screens frozen in mid-use, papers tossed on the floor, and not a soul around.

"Perfect. That bomb scare should still have them running like headless turkeys." He cracked his knuckles and gave a confident grin moving to the nearest computer. "Now, while the staff is away, the hackers will play."

The way the brilliant turtle saw it, sleight of hand and fleetness of foot had their use, but such things made no difference to him when fleetness of fingers could fizz firewalls and corrode away codebases in mere moments. Complicated servers and algorithms in Bentley's bespectacled eyes became a low-graphic video game where breaking through the danger-riddled cyberspace was no more challenge for him and his digital avatar than merely gaining top score.

And Bentley always got top score.

"That should take care of that. Sly, what's up on your end?"

_"Spotlights over here are going down. Tech saves the day again."_

"It's a little too soon to be celebrating. There is still the miniscule matter of the small army right outside the casino ready to blow us to Kingdom Come."

_"Right. Time to call in some big guns of our own."_

* * *

 

_"Alright Murray, you know the drill. Get in there and go wild on those guys."_ Bentley rang in through the earpiece.

"Got it, chum! 'The Murray's' going Animal Kingdom on these lightweights!"

The stylized van tore up the road well enough with tire tracks like claw marks. It plowed through the grounds wrapped in a veil of exhaust fumes reducing the décor and spotlights to ruin. Just racking up points in dent form as the driver swerved and skidded to a halt.

Thick smoke curtains finally drew past to reveal the team van, painted with cliché flames along the hood and a raccoon’s stylized face on the side. Dents and patches of oil and grime along its from and cracks in the headlights were symbolic of not only severe disrepair but the many adventures the team spent globetrotting in that rickety vehicle. And despite all its damages and its relative size, it hummed and roared with the ferocity of a monster truck.

In an instant the dangerous vehicle was circled by fifty or so guards. Unsteady hands at the triggers of their rifles guaranteed a shooting whether or not the driver emerged. Anxious breaths in the seconds passed turned to near-hyperventilation.

CRASH!!

The door swung open and a large pink mass shot out like a cannon.

“Fear ‘The Murray!!”

That unlucky guard right in the way got an unexpected visit from a red gloved fist, knocking sever teeth out in the entry. Towering in triumph over his unconscious form with a foot on his chest stood the mighty pink hippo. A red mask and gloves, white racing scarf, blue shirt and belt, this third criminal had all the garb of a champion clothing him, like stepping out of the ring while still being somewhere in it. For a while he stood flexing, basking in the identifying lights as some uncrowned king.

“You chumps ready!?” Boomed Murray’s raucous voice. “Here’s the thunder that’ll send you under! THUNDER FLOP!”

A shockwave of a gust ejected from his rotund body suddenly launched upward. The hippo came crashing down atop multiple guards with audible cracks in their bones, like the impact of an earthquake onto a single point. Bouncing in recoil he saw them turned flatter than pancakes.

“Oh, YEAH!” He shouted to the rest. “Behold ‘The Murray’s” magnanimous magnitudinal might! Your boss is gonna have to peel you off the sidewalk after that thrashing!”

Out of fear, the guards forgot the long-range capabilities and charged in all at once. Good. Murray liked a close-quarters fight more than anything else. They came at him and he countered with a hard left-right-left, each guard was out with a single punch.

Left punch, right jab, left blow, right uppercut. An overhand tossed guard knocking the rest down like bowling pins for good measure. He was firing on all cylinders like his beloved van. “Feel free to get your buddies out! The Murray’s always up for cracking a few more skulls!”

Murray found infantile satisfaction in these more intense moments of the mission. As the team’s muscle and getaway driver, he found his times to shine were mostly near the end when the theft was successful and all that was left was to dash away laughing into the night with the loot in hand. Prior, he’d tackle the odd job with complex plots and priority stealth pulling his strings. A bit player in the opening act. His assumed character would announce with hard metal limbs thrust forward in a punch that if anything, his edgy and daring talents were the main event.

“That’s right! Eat it! Cooper Gang for the win!”

_“Murray, heads up!”_

Bentley’s warning screamed as guards rained from above. It seems they had heeded the hippo’s earlier request as they surged from the building. They had jumped forward to dogpile the mighty hippo as a last resort. One by one their bodies piled onto him, buckling Murray down to his knees as more and more clambered onto the mass of black. Heavier and heavier like boulders. Until…

“RAAAGGHHH!!!” With his full juggernaut-level strength, Murray unleashed a powerful spin. The guards were sent flying with explosive force in multiple directions, crashing into metal and stone with loud smashes.

“Behold the Pink Tornado!”

_“Uh, yeah. I still say that makes it sound girly.”_ Bentley muttered.

“Okay, so it’s a working title! But who says pink can’t be a man’s color?”

_“Let’s save the color theory discussion for another time. Looks like you’ve managed to clear out the last of Benedict’s security. We’re on the move, so get the van ready for a quick exit.”_

“On it!” The turtle had no way of seeing, but the confident thumbs-up from his brawny friend managed to seep through.

* * *

_"Perimeter secure, Sly. Time to blow this place.”_

“Hope you’re not talking literally.” As Bentley noted, the raccoon was darting up a flight of stairs. A paltry fraction of Benedict’s thugs was still hot on his heels. Only through his veteran levels of agility was he maintaining the distance.

_“Of course not! Just hurry up and get down here!”_

“Keep your shell on. I’ll be down in 8.”

“8 MINUTES!?”

“No… seconds.”

Sly shoved open the door that lied in wait at the top of the stairs, coming above the balcony overseeing the entrance. Escape lied ahead past a half-mile intangible floor barred by a denying marble railing. Vivid lights shone from the spiral chandeliers like crystalline flames reflecting off hundreds of colored pieces composing the stained glass window at the end. The thief stared ahead at the blinding barrier already feeling caught in the headlights when the foreboding sound of guns clicking came from behind him.

The intrepid smirk that crossed his face was offered as a silent farewell. He leapt onto the railing and ran its distance, jumping and swinging on the chandelier cables when the barrage of gunfire came after. The public down below gasped in anticipation watching the scene. He hopped swiftly along the gem stepping stones and made it to the other side, taking one final amused look at the guards scrambling about in futile hope of capturing him.

He leapt away, crashing through the window and out of reach.

Such an image of the master thief, spinning freely like a leaf in the night wind amidst the twinkling of glass shards. The romance as his silhouette soared past the moon. The mystery to others perceiving nothing but an enigmatic shadow that all but suddenly seemed to burst into reality. The rush of how he laughed in danger’s face as gravity would soon take effect. For Sly himself, it was a mixture of all those things and more that made the thief’s path ignite the blaze of life in him. Up in the rafters, running across the rooftops, uncertainty in every move he made as he pursued his prize.

There could be no greater joy. Nothing so fulfilling as this dark adrenaline. His face reflected in the polished gold of his cane showed him there could be no other life for him.

He somersaulted down and tumbled onto the base of the sign just outside. The glass shards came down after him like falling stardust. He remained low almost waiting for some final twist to come. And sure enough, it came as a flash of multiple spotlights and a rigid resonance of blaring sirens mere feet below him.

From amidst the gathered battalion of policemen came a female fox of electrifying beauty, armed with a dangerous-looking pistol. Garbed in gloves, long pants, knee-high boots and a long jacket gave the impression she harshly severed any emotions that might hinder the fierce dedication to her work. But the curves of her figure and curling blue locks gave the clear hint she was a woman nonetheless. A woman cop looking for years on end to slap the cuffs on the thief currently in her sights.

“Hitting a casino, ringtail?” She spoke though the megaphone handed to her in a seductive but firm Hispanic voice. “A little cliché, don’t you think?”

“Probably. But maybe I like to save the surprises for our get-togethers…” His favorite part of the job, indeed.

“You wanna ‘get together?’ Come on down into my squad car! We’ll have plenty of quality time on our way to your new cell.”

“Speaking of clichés… I’m pretty sure you can come up with better romantic settings than prison.”

She huffed playfully. “Sure. I just figured you’d care more for getting cozy than getting shocked.”

“At this point the only thing that shocks me is how we’re not getting cozy together right now. How ‘bout it, Inspector Fox? You and me, a night on the town, an accordion playing our song?”

“The only song you should be thinking about is ‘Doin’ Time!”

“Eh, not my style. How about… ‘Bye, Bye, Bye?’”

Sly leapt, keeping his eyes on the female inspector until the last, hoping to see hers behind the shock pistol she aimed right at his face. Before anyone gathered could even blink the master thief had disappeared with the Cooper van as it zoomed by, leaving papers fluttering in the wake. Police cars were already on the move as Benedict and his assistant came running out to hopefully catch their intruders in chains.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” Benedict screamed as he saw no trace of the raccoon. “Interpol sends in da troops and Cooper still gets away scot free!?”

“You might as well get used to it, like everyone else.” Inspector Fox called.

Benedict threw his cigar down in fury. “Well I trust you clowns are gonna be doin’ somethin’ about this mess.”

“Sure, but you won’t be laughing.”

“Say wha?”

She flashed her badge out to him. “Our boys did a little investigation and we’ve got more than enough evidence stacked up. Andrew Benedict, in accordance with federal law, you’re under arrest for accounts of illegal gambling. We’re shutting you down.”

“WHAT!?”

Both men were immediately restrained by officers and shoved down to the cars. The weasel struggled in fury at how his scavenged empire was destroyed in the span of a single night. He glared back at the fox who was issuing commands to the other officers escorting the confused populace out. By the time the both of them handcuffed and in the car, his boiling anger had cooled to a despairing simmer.

“Well, sir.” His assistant muttered. “I hate to say I told you so.”

“Aw, shut up, Jerry…”

“… MY NAME IS TERRY!!!”

* * *

 

“Bentley, you owe me big time for this one…”

The raccoon had already crawled into the van, sullen in mood as he looked to his friends. Not even a thrilling chase from Carmelita Fox as he escaped with a briefcase as his only prize. The smooth thrum from the van’s metal interior as they slowed to a standard gear in still breakneck speed only hit the dull evening home to the daredevil criminal. Needless to say the evening had not gone as well as he had hoped it would.

“Sorry, Sly.” Bentley drawled. “Next time I’ll set up a heist at Fort Knox. How does that sound?”

“Seriously!?” His eyes sparkled with excitement.

“You, sir, will be the death of me…”

“Uh, guys?” Murray called from the front at the wheel. “Since we got it and all, shouldn’t we checked to see what’s inside?”

The two friends looked dumbfounded at Murray and then at each other. They had almost forgotten the innate curiosity they had themselves for the case’s contents when they first arrived at the casino. To gamble their freedoms on such a paltry price at the behest of an anonymous caller meant there had to be something of greater value than normal riches inside. Complying, Sly undid the locks on the case and carefully opened it.

But they could never have predicted what was inside.

“GADZOOKS!”

“N-No way…”

“What? What is it? Come on, guys, I’m driving here!”

Sly was disappointed and intrigued all at once when he had felt the unexpected lightness of the case. Nothing but the standard weight carried all throughout the ritzy guard-infested gauntlet. He had never once suspected to only find a scrap of paper inside, but not just any scrap.

It was a calling card, the very same used by the Cooper clan, his lineage, throughout the centuries. The paper was old and worn, its colors dulled, with tears on the edges. But that design of a raccoon’s face, cut in that shape, it was unmistakable no matter how its apparent age deluded the senses. As Sly turned it to the back, there was a message written in long-since dried cursive strokes of a different language, but easily recognized by the ring-tailed thief.

**_“A Cooper is only as skilled as his spoils are valuable. A treasure greater than any other awaits.”_ **


	2. Prologue Pt.2

_It was a bit of a shocker for sure. But when you’re in my line of work, surprises just come with the job. In fact, it’s the story of my life._

_As a kid, there was no greater surprise to me than learning I had been born into the infamous Cooper line of master thieves. That came with some downs, like losing my parents to a psycho with a grudge and getting stuck in an orphanage. But some ups too, like meeting my lifelong friends: Bentley, the one with the big brain, and Murray, the one with the big belly. Sticking together, we’d gone on all kinds of adventures and taken down some of the most ruthless thugs to crawl out of the woodworks._

_No doubt I’ve worked my way into the Cooper hall of fame at this point. With all the hijinks we’ve gone through, from beating down crime syndicates to meeting my ancestors, I’d have thought nothing could surprise me anymore. And after a short period of semi-retirement, the way that last great caper nearly ended was one of the closest calls in memory._

_… Yeah, let’s… let’s not mention ‘memory’ in terms of one particular aspect._

_It’s funny, really. Having delved into my family history, seeing techniques, exploits, and even an ancestor I had no idea existed, there come the thoughts that never get put down. At the end of every story, there’s always the questions left unanswered or thoughts of things that could have been. It makes you wonder how much you know at all._

_That’s the feeling I get from looking at this Cooper calling-card. A call from an anonymous tipster earlier this evening led to holding this distinctively cut piece of aged paper. Each second it’s in my fingers is worth a million questions in my head._

_No doubt things are gonna be interesting this time around._

* * *

At Sly’s insistence, Murray slammed the gas pedal and rushed down the street. Given his total abandon to the speed limit and any traffic lights along the way, it took less than a half hour to make it back to their hideout. Bentley had to be scraped off the interior metal by his friends before they could get inside.

Messy and less than fanciful compared to the standard fare of Parisian abodes but it was enough of a home to three lifelong bachelors. The turtle rushed their way past the floor littered with old boxes of takeout and spare coins swiped from one thief’s lair to end in another to his observation table. With everything methodically placed, his observation tools were at his side instantly and the aged Cooper calling-card was at the bottom of a microscope for hard analysis. It wouldn’t have surprised the other two if he could see the fibers making up the paper.

Sly came from behind after several few silence-filled minutes. “So, what do you make of it, Bentley?”

“Hard to say.” He typed at his turtle shell-themed laptop. “Based on my investigation so far, it does appear to be quite aged.”

“Fascinating.” He drawled sarcastically. “Next you’re gonna tell us it’s blue.”

“No, Sly. I mean this is several years old. I’m applying carbon dating and DNA and fingerprint scanning to find out who left it and when. With any luck, this is just someone’s idea of a prank.”

“Some prank. Who leaves a Cooper calling card other than a Cooper?” Before he’d even processed the words blurted out, the master thief felt a sense of itching excitement. Any kind of word of his family generated that raw thrill that little else could produce. “It could be, I don’t know, something left by my dad.”

“Kinda weird, but still sounds like a face-smashing good time!” Murray slammed his fists together.

“As likely as that might end up being, I wouldn’t go making assumptions if the fact that we have no idea who contacted us about this is anything to go by.”

“So it could be, is what you’re saying?”

“What I’m saying is that it could just as easily be some kind of elaborate trap that ends with us beaten black in prison tied on spits over a vat of boiling oil with lasers waiting to fricassee us with a single movement!”

“You have a dark imagination, you know that?”

“So leave me to figure this out and I’ll give you some dark facts.”

“My favorite kind.” And with that, Sly and Murray left the turtle to his work.

The pleasant thing about their quaint criminal abode was that it was much like their team. A makeshift home as a sum yet each of its parts served as a relaxing haven to the three rag-tag criminals. Each member could go into a space where he was surrounded by his passions, when dangerous heists and clashes of personality therein needed to be escaped.

Bentley’s space where he typed away was a den of knowledge where logic nearly took form with digital numbers and lines of code arising from the spotless patch of floor. All meticulously arranged by the turtle’s side were books, charts and graphs detailing meticulous data on crime lords and cops across the continent. Almost to shield from the world’s viral ignorance outside his info-filled bubble, books and files were set cross-referenced and indexed so they’d be at his disposal in seconds flat. It was hard for his friends to say if the space could be considered ‘lived-in.’

Murray was a simple guy with simple pleasures: eating, punching, and fixing up the van. Satisfying those pleasures with a ratty punching back near both the refrigerator and door leading to the garage was just as simple. The pink enforcer once considered a slab of meat to fulfill two desires at once (punch then chew) but the smell of raw meat nearly gagging him to tears made Bentley one hundred percent against the idea. At present, Murray was satisfying himself with his weights, bench-pressing a relatively light two-hundred pounds or so.

As for Sly, what greater pleasure was there for a thief than to be surrounded by his treasures? All around him was a small gallery of priceless items swiped from everything from museums to mafia hideouts over the years. Vases, jeweled figurines, paintings, trinkets gained from pickpocketing the occasional roaming guard, right down to wallets and bags full of money. So long as these symbols of his past exploits were there, all else Sly needed was a simple desk to sit back and enjoy a book by a tall lamp.

The three kept themselves preoccupied with calming ambiance provided by an old stereo playing saxophone tunes for a couple of hours. Though it eased the shock from before, Sly found all that was left were lingering questions. Every two seconds he’d look back at Bentley typing away inspecting the card, just stopping himself from inquiring as to his intelligent friend’s progress.

“Sly?”

Sly blinked, not noticing the hippo had set down his weights. “What’s up, big guy?”

“… well, I was wondering…”

The raccoon’s eyes widened slightly while lowering his book. Murray had never been one to think about the big stuff, yet here he was about to ask the nagging question apparently on both their minds. It was a surprise.

“Do you ever wonder why hot dogs come in ten-packs and hot dog buns come in eight?”

He nearly fell out of his seat.

“Uh… best to file that under ‘World’s Greatest Mysteries.”

“But that’s what you said when I asked about what dress I should wear for that dance during that job in Venezuela!”

“No Murray. I said the reason you’d ask that is a mystery.” Sly smirked.

“Oh…” As if suddenly realizing the situation at hand, he asked. “Oh yeah, uh, you think Bentley’s had any luck with that card?”

“Hey, you know how Bentley gets when he busts out the ol’ laptop. You wanna find out? You’re gonna have to grab that stick and prod the beast.”

“You know, a fun bit of trivia.” Bentley’s voice called out from across the room, accomplishing the challenging task of startling the two veteran criminals in a way only true friends could do. “A 1998 university study shows that while sleeping, the frontal lobe of the brain along with primary auditory cortex respond to environmental sounds.”

“Wait,” Sly joked. “Don’t tell me you’ve been napping over there.”

Bentley shoved his entire desk clear to look cross at Sly and Murray. “I don’t have to be asleep to hear every word you’ve been saying!”

“Oh!” Murray smiled. “So… did you find out anything?”

“We’re all ears!”

“Look, guys! It’s going to take a little longer than a few minutes to figure this thing out! Whoever planted this made sure to cover their tracks!”

Murray blinked in surprise. “Really? We kinda figured you’d be done already. That’s kinda how it goes – you do your… computer-y stuff, Sly does some monologuing, and I get the van rolling to whatever lowlife chump we gotta beat down first!”

“Wait, how do you know about the monologuing?”

“It helps when I have a name to look up! What I’m dealing with here is pretty much the proverbial ‘needle in a haystack’ scenario!” Bentley took the chance to rub his eyes clear of fatigue. “Do I need to once again remind you how nerve-wracking it is to hack into Interpol’s forensics database? Especially for something like an unknown fingerprint?”

In truth, Bentley wanted to say as little as possible about his utter bafflement of the mysterious sender’s identity, which was quickly growing into a Murray-sized migraine. As someone who held facts and figures like a winning hand in a game of cards, having all the answers to ensure maximum profit with minimum risk was how Bentley best operated. And normally, he’d have met his friends’ expectations in a matter of seconds, without the tense knuckles and heavy eyelids. For the team’s resident brainiac, he had to admit it was rather unsettling, if not embarrassing.

“Look Bentley, we get it.” Sly began, tipping his cap. “Some mysteries are easier to solve than others. But prank, trap, or otherwise total cliché, I don’t think it’s a good idea to pass this up. The paper it’s on, what it says, the fact that we were deliberately led to it; it all seems to point in one direction.”

“And that’s the real mystery. What is that direction?”

Sly sighed. Bentley’s concern was rational, but sometimes it made him such a killjoy. He held his hands up and backed away. “Okay, you need your thinking space. I’ll take that as a hint to take my distracting self and duck out the door.”

“Another bad idea.” The reptilian genius shook his head. “Interpol’s still got all the streets blocked. You’ll be spotted quicker than a sent email.”

“Please. That’s if they decide to look up. Murray, why don’t you be the Watson to Bentley’s Sherlock and help him out?”

“Oh, uh…” The hippo had casually strolled towards the refrigerator in the middle of the conversation. His pink cheeks flushed red at being caught with several sandwiches in his arms and a half-eaten hamburger in his mouth. He tried to mumble out a response before apparently realizing the food item was there and swallowed it. “Yeah, I’m more of a ‘whack-it-till-it-works’ guy when it comes to computers. Bentley can handle it without me. Besides, I gotta figure out a mystery of my own – how many of these sandwiches I can get into my mouth!”

“Yeah, there’s one for the record books.” Sly chuckled heading out.

Murray watched the team’s cunning leader duck his way out the door and took a thoughtful look at his sandwiches. “Hey, Bentley. You wanna spot me while I stuff myself?”

“Pass.”

* * *

Paris morphed into a gothic-styled gauntlet whenever Interpol managed to catch criminals in the act. The only rats that managed to scurry away from the army of officers were the actual rats from out of the alleys. Any criminals poised to pounce could try to slink back into the darkness before the collars were slapped on them.

Though many times considering himself a tempter of fate, Sly knew better than to take risks now as police cars swarmed the streets. The flashes of red and blue marked a dead end for anyone who considered themselves an enemy of or above the law. And so, Sly made sure to cloak himself in a long trench coat and hat just before stepping outside the hideout. Sure enough, such a simple disguise made him practically invisible to the men in blue.

His little corner of the city of lovers was infested with every face ever poorly portrayed on a wanted poster. Either them or those who sought to find their next meal from the dumpster, test their mettle on the hard streets or simply disappear altogether. What made Sly a criminal as successful as any businessman or entrepreneur was his connection to every one of these people. But one face he didn’t know came right as he passed by.

“Hey, dude…” The boy answered in a scratchy, forlorn voice. “Got any spare change?”

Sly looked down with pity, saddened at destiny’s cruel whim to leave a young boy here in tattered clothes with his health hanging by a thread. He was a teenager, just barely, obviously having a few years of experience on the streets for himself. He gave a sad smile reaching into his pocket and tossing a coin into his dirty metal can.

“Chin up, kid.” He said walking off. The boy kept an eye on his back as long as he could before his mysterious donor vanished.

Bentley had said back during the Klaww Gang affair that the view was always better from the rooftops. Sly couldn’t help but agree as he bounded upon walls and spire jumped from atop pipes to be greeted with the evening sky’s mirror image below him. Windows, lampposts, and lanterns all flickered and glowed like stars casting the architecture around them into faded black. Though Benedict’s casino, even with its staggering amount of neon lights shutting down bulb by blub, could still arguably have been brighter than the moon.

The raccoon’s thoughts then drifted with a stray chuckle to Inspector Fox, who was most likely still there rounding up Benedict’s staff in chains. A sad thing for any man who was courting her, as determined as she would be to carry on with her work bringing to life every Hollywood cliché regarding policework for any kind of leisurely activity. But if nothing else, said man sighed dreamily, he admired her almost single-minded drive to keep the streets cleared.

Maybe one day. Without sirens, shock pistols, or pretenses involved.

He let such thoughts fade while revitalizing his musings with new thoughts regarding the mysterious card as he breathed in the infectious spell of romance and adventure the city cast. Police sirens radiating in the distance, casting ripples in the reflective landscape. The mouthwatering scent of coffee from the neighboring cafes, perfumes matching with an artificial tinge the flowers dotting every windowsill. All carried on the caressing evening breeze ruffling his fur.

And footsteps.

“Huh?”

Sly turned with his body on full alert. It almost passed him in the moment he blinked but there he saw it. A figure shooting across the rooftops silhouetted by moonlight, with such immense speed it appeared to be running on the air.

“Bonjour… where’s this guy off to in such a hurry?”

His feet sprang into action wanting to find the answer. He stayed hidden by moving to an adjacent row of buildings or hopping onto higher vantage points whenever he could. An old technique that offered constant success when dealing with several far more menacing crime lords only allowed him now to barely keep in pace with some common burglar. The master thief had to double his acrobatic pace while on the brink of throwing caution to the wind.

At last the figure had stopped atop the rear of an old looking brick building with a glass ceiling. Sly had rushed so fervently to keep up with the mystery thief he had to put the brakes on hard when he had suddenly stopped. As he melted into shadows once more behind a rooftop exit, his eyes widened slightly when the figure had come into more proper lighting and his face was revealed.

“What the...?”

What Sly had thought was some poor excuse of a man was only partly right when he saw the figure was in fact… a boy. A teenage raven whose black feathers attempted to guise him from any watching eyes and even the sinister lights of Paris as a meaningless silhouette. Yet his wings, his fluttering tattered scarf, and spiky hair with tinges of blue from the ebony made him stand out. One of his wings, giving the metallic sheen of a gauntlet, was used to cut a hole from within the glass large enough for him to slink through.

Sly rushed to the window and kept his eyes trailed on the near invisible young burglar. The Binocucom he always carried kept lock on his fleet figure as it hoped to meld into shadow once more.

With a flap and an admittedly impressive backflip the boy sent quills in every direction on the grounds. At first focused glance, it seemed like a waste of energy with nothing to show for it but an immature flair and lack of aim done to emulate some two-bit actor. The raccoon had to suppress a grimace as the boy landed, clearly trying to look cool.

But as flashes came from every corner of the building, he noticed each of the security cameras shorting out. A feather accurately placed in between the wires had shut each one down.

“Okay. Clearly you’re past rifles and ski masks…”

Whether the boy ran or flew, the darting speed at which he had done so made it unclear. He ran through the aisles past the shelves picking up as many items as he could and placing them in the bag Sly had just noticed. He had to admit from his veteran perspective the take-all attitude the boy displayed was gutsy, to say the least.

But what the master thief could really appreciate, from his own experience, was how the boy seemed to toy with the guards. The sparse number of flashlight-toting officers were blind and deaf to his presence as he leapt above them and shot past the walls while they failed to even noticed the breeze left in his wake. At times the boy landed on the ground and danced around them more nimbly than their own shadows to avoid their flashlights. He would duck and dodge the beams of light like they were searing sunbeams that would disintegrate him at the touch.

And just like that, he would be gone again, ducked behind some massive crate and camouflaged so perfectly into shadow. Any other person with eyes far less keen than Sly’s own would have to rely on mere memory to find just what corner the boy had slunk to. But then he would vault up towards the rafters and leap and backflip all over. He twirled while upside down or spun on the precarious balance of a single finger, and with a free arm he’d swipe anything in reach. Far beyond anything a standard burglar was physically capable of, Sly noted with a mental nod of approval.

The only time the guards moved towards his presence was when he stomped down on the ground, his step giving a thunderous crack upon the tiled floor. The burly men jolted awake and turned their flashlights in his direction, while he snapped back to behind the wall he peeked out from.

“Wha?”

“Someone here?”

“Kid, what are you doing?” Sly seethed.

The guards had run towards the corner where the young raven had been hiding. Keyword: had. He was already on the other side of the building and picking up everything remaining on the shelves. The guards hadn’t even caught the flap of his wings as he took off.

“Alright!” Sly pumped his fist. “Now that’s how you do it!”

“Must’ve been something falling.” One of the guards spoke from below.

“I honestly don’t care. Even food warehouses like this can get creepy around this time.”

“Wait… food warehouse!?”

Sly dashed to the end of the building and hooked onto the balcony with his cane. Sure enough, there was a vibrant yet somewhat tacky logo, ‘Mark’s Munchies & More,’ painted onto the brick wall. The lamps cast every inch of the formerly shady stronghold in a decent light: plain delivery trucks, standard graveyard shift guards, and crates of food halfway between fresh and spoiled. He blinked in surprise at how he’d been taken in by the whole situation. Though, any building that had a thief breaking in would looked suspicious, even if he was only speaking from his own experience.

The excitement welling up in the raccoon’s gut dissolved into disdain, with his own family pride as the poison. The Coopers had made their reputations on stealing exclusively from other thieves, the only breed of folk that could provide the challenge to fuel their passion. Ordinary people were defeated as soon as their treasures were snatched from their hands without any resistance. He didn’t have to meet his own ancestors once again or raise his father from the dead and ask to know that all of them would click their tongues and seethe at this.

Yet he could not hold the frown on his own face or deny the boy’s prodigal skill in the art of thievery. That was clear enough regardless of his target. He could no doubt steal diamonds and dollars as easily as he had stolen bales of bread from this warehouse. And maybe this high-flying heist puller would be open to the winds of change.

As Sly could attest as he chased after the boy, they blow when one least expects them.

* * *

Ten or so blocks away from the scene of the crime allowed the raven to breathe in some relief, however slight it was from his pounding lungs. The weight of the stuffed sack behind him rolled away as he set it on the ground and stretched his spine with an audible crack. From there he cracked his knuckles and spun around shaking his legs, anything and everything to snap his body into the realization that the adrenaline-boosted spur of speed and nimbleness it gave during his escape was no longer required.

His weary wandering in adjusting his bones brought him under a nearby lamp which revealed scars and cuts of all sizes slashed right through his feathers. They all appeared ages old, worn like the raggedy scarf around his neck which he flapped out to give his neck some air to clear the sweat. He made sure to scan his surroundings as soon as he recollected himself, as the scars had numbly flared as he left the warehouse. A foreign sixth sense alerting him to danger.

No one for miles. Another successful run from all bodily accounts.

“Bravo, kid, bravo,” came a clapping sound from behind him. He jumped and turned to face the smirking ring-tailed figure emerging from the shadows. “Really loved the show back there.”

The raven remained defensive as he looked at him with a suspicious glance. “If I’d known I had an audience, I would have curtsied at the end.”

“Don’t hold back on my account.” The boy scoffed. “No, really, take a bow, uh…” Sly rolled his hand inviting the input.

He sighed. “Blake.”

“Of course. Should’ve seen that one coming.” The raccoon went to rolling his eyes now. “But, you do know there are easier ways to get a meal? I know takeout’s not exactly healthy, and who can say what your opinions are on automated can openers…”

“Haha.”

“Sorry.” Sly held up his hands. “But I mean, what? Did you leave your wallet at home? What’s with stealing a few cans and some bread?”

“For your information, I did purchase that bread. Surprised you don’t know about the ol’ five-finger discount. Always on.” He gave a smirk and wriggled his feathered fingers.

“Should’ve seen that one too.” He chuckled.

Almost move for move in gesture and face the two seemed to mimic one another, the master thief noticed in the pause that followed. Sly always was a firm believer he and his friends were both young and young at heart, and so maybe it was that this boy reflected him in body and soul, past and present. His interest rose to new peaks by the second: rough around the edges and roughed up to boot, but this boy Blake definitely had the makings of a suave master criminal.

“Well, I like a kid who shops smart. Though I think you could score some better deals than groceries that way.”

“Probably so. What are you getting at here?”

“Let me just cut to the chase, kiddo.” The raccoon had been willing to level with him in the criminal world’s dangerous game of words, but he felt he could let up on the psychological assault maneuver and be more inviting here. “You got skill, and that skill can take you way farther than just local bread thief.”

“Thanks for the kind words but there isn’t much of a job market when it comes to theft.”

“What if I told you I was offering?”

“Really? Did you find some ads rooting through the trash cans?”

“Oh, look who’s funny now.” He chuckled hoisting his cane behind him. “Think of it as the opportunity of a lifetime for a promising young vagabond such as yourself. My gang’s got a bit of a reputation if you want to check the papers on that.”

“Yeah, no need. That glorified back scratcher you’ve got there’s a dead giveaway.” Blake joked. Sly’s grin dissolved only slightly at the jab at his precious heirloom. “Sly Cooper, leader of the infamous Cooper Gang.”

“Infamous is just another word for famous, and we definitely fit that bill.” Whether he intended to or not, the raccoon spoke with an air or smugness.  “We’ve got quite a list of exploits: a few priceless jewels, some ancient artifacts, the occasional foreign chocolate bar. Not to mention we’ve taken down some of the nastiest crime lords around the world.”

“How I love hearing stalkers recite their resumes…” Blake sighed.

“We’ve always kept it a threesome but, you know, four’s the new three. We’re not really all that picky when it comes to new talent: trust me, I once had my eye on some smack-talker who worked at a fast food restaurant.” He held out his hand to make it official. “So, you wanna sign up?”

The young raven looked to his open palm and then to him with a not-too promising look of boredom on his face. A trademark poker face that was necessary in the world of crime, used by the insects crawling along the underbelly of society when making deals and adding to fortunes and empires. But he did catch the twitch of his open hand, a moment of betrayal to his nonchalant expression. He was good, but raw talent still needed refinement.

But things looked hopeful when Blake widened his eyes more and his hand started to raise sightly, while the bag of trifles and petty theft in obtaining it slumped from his shoulder. He might have just accepted after all, and Sly let his defenses slip himself to beam slightly. The two stood there for an eternity of a moment, frozen in those positions.

And in an instant, with his raised hand to his hip and his bag repositioned, it was over. “Yeah… as appealing as you’ve made grand larceny sound, pass.”

Sly blinked. “Say what?”

“Big time jobs, tussling with Interpol, it’s not my thing. But thanks for the offer. That fast food guy doesn’t know what he’s missing.” That was as much of the time as Blake was willing to give as he flew off. His free wing caught the evening breeze and he glided away from sight.

The raccoon just watched it all while feathers fluttered past, silently cementing what his mind took several unneeded moments to realize was rejection. Maybe the boy had acted on some hidden spark of wisdom that came alive when he caught sight of a master criminal standing on a hairpin line between freedom and arrest. But he made targets of the innocent, his loot a denied comfort to those in need, and maybe morality meant nothing to some punk just looking for a free meal. And maybe, Sly had just wasted both their time.

He looked out to nothing but the empty space of monotonous building straight in a row like a bridge to the known and seen. Everything in the city – the sights, the sounds, the smells – all familiar and stagnant. Like every step in his long and winding career, and every villain he faced. Dimwitted and consumed by greed, with self-serving goals not even the purest saint could draw them away from.

But this was different.

He was young, and the raccoon knew from experience even those unfortunate few twisted by harsh realities and tragic circumstances still had a sliver of innocence in them. He’d developed that innate sense, that way to read a person and sense from a mere twitch of his tail any malice or wrongdoing spirit. There wasn’t a sliver of that all-too familiar greed in the boy as there was in every other lowdown thug he had ever stared down. The boy was misguided, but there was hope that he could be brought onto the right path. And if that was so, then it was for the best that Blake join their ranks.

Besides, when the Cooper Gang wants something, they will get it.


	3. Prologue Part 3

“YOU WHAT!?”

Sly’s announcement had hit the technological turtle harder than the dreaded blue screen of death. Pulled out of the informational highway running in his head, he slammed his now messy desk knocking the lamp and near everything else on it to the floor. The beam of light hit the nervously grinning master thief like an interrogation room lamp.

“Okay, yeah, maybe I should have ran it with you guys first, but I mean it seemed like a good idea at the time…” He shrugged.

Bentley groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sweet tectonics, just take a jackhammer to my shell and end me.”

Murray had to squeeze through from the entrance to the other room with an unstable mountain of junk food: burgers, buckets of chicken, cupcakes and the like. His snout was stuffed with at least three slices of pizza crammed into his maw when he saw the tension between his friends. He had the decency to swallow before speaking. “Uh… what’s going on and is it something I should go back into the kitchen for? Say yeah, ‘cause I think I went a little light on the snacks…”

“Picture if you will, Murray.” Bentley began, gesturing to Sly who shook his head. “We’re here, you eating, me painstakingly researching: our usual things, and meanwhile Sly goes and plays talent scout and tries to recruit some random joe who just robbed a food warehouse!”

“In my defense, he got a pretty good haul.”

“Sounds like my kind of criminal.” Murray added.

“Excuse me? Permit me to weigh in once more and remind you that he’s a thirteen-year-old!”

“Fourteen, last I checked.” Sly added.

Bentley sighed and rolled out from behind his desk to reset the lamp onto the desk and get his files in order with his own and his chair’s robotic limbs. “Thirteen, fourteen, twenty-four or seventy-five, it’s not happening.”

Sly leaned by the desk and scooted items closer with his cane. “Okay, can I just also say in my defense that the kid’s got serious skills? I mean it, Bentley, you know I wouldn’t make that call unless I thought he had chops.”

“Frankly it’s how those skills are being utilized that bothers me…”

Sly had to agree, if that was only conveyed by how tightly he gripped his cane. “So maybe he needs a lesson in proper ‘utilization.’ Come on Bentley, what is the big deal? Why are you so against this?”

Bentley paused, hand raised as it reached out for a paper. The bones of his knuckles showed through the glove fabric, flexing and clutching, clawing at air. With the same hand to his face he wiped whatever seemed to chill his cold blood to frigid levels away, readjusting his glasses and continuing to sort through the desk contents. The hairs on Sly’s tail bristled as the turtle’s tension pulsated out in rushed grabs, leaving the room silent save for the sounds of ruffling papers and Murray’s exaggerated chewing. The best move was to let the atmosphere settle until Bentley had cooled.

Still, Sly had to roll his eyes at his friend’s nagging as he soon joined in to pick up the rest of the scattered items. Bentley was his best friend and he always tried to respect his wishes, but the element of chaos surging in their wake and surrounding them should have by now been a relatively light weight to carry on their shoulders. It was chuckle worthy how order was still a needed anchor for Bentley, worthless unless absolute – every stack of papers neatly stacked, every pencil perfectly straight on the surface.

“All right. Let me put it this way: in advanced calculus, trigonometry, geometry, physics, any and every level of mathematics that comes to mind, every formula is set. Constant.” Bentley spoke with the physical example of an actual calculus expression on a whiteboard. At the side, he drew in a random letter ‘z’ on the side. “Throw in any unknown or foreign variables and the whole thing becomes incalculable and falls apart.”

“How does it always come back to math?”

“Oh, come on! I didn’t even throw out an equation!” Bentley yelled in exasperation. “Look, can we just drop this and get back to focusing on the ‘Mystery of the Calling Card’ you’ve apparently lost interest in about the span of a few hours in?”

“When did I say I lost interest?” Sly stood to lean on the table. “I’m just saying… maybe, it wouldn’t be all that bad to have one more helping hand brought along for the ride.”

“Because that’s worked out so splendidly in the past.”

“Uh, it actually has. If memory serves, this wouldn’t exactly be the first time we’ve gone and recruited new blood. And I wasn’t too keen on a particular choice of yours at first.”

Sly had absently gestured to another room where the steel-sealed modern-age Cooper Vault was, undoubtedly their greatest haul to date. The reward was almost as great as the challenge, requiring the world-class talents of misfits turned master criminals, allies that came from the unlikeliest places. Though saying things ‘worked out’ as Sly had stated was a bit of an exaggeration, as Bentley noted with the sarcastic glare beaming through his glasses.

“That was a special case. The Cooper Vault job took more than just us. We needed extra everything just to get past the first few turrets. This – how is this beneficial in any way that can’t be satisfied with our current capabilities?”

“He’s got a point, Sly.” Murray pointed out between mouthfuls.

“Never hurts to have more options.” Sly shrugged.

“He’s got a point, Bentley.” Murray butted in once again.

“Okay, you asked me why I was against this. Can I ask you why you’re for this?” Bentley gestured wildly with his hands as if to slam Sly down with the enormity of his sudden decision. “For the sake of clarity, let’s review: you want to recruit a teenager who steals from perfectly legal, publicly-owned warehouses, just because it so happens he’s talented in doing so? I’ll be honest, I-I’m not even seeing your classic madhouse Cooper logic here.”

“I want to help the kid out.”

“Help him out?” Bentley asked.

“We get a new teammate and he gets a chance to turn things around. It’s a win-win if you think about it.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Sly! We are not some kind of foster care!” Bentley rolled away and returned to behind his desk. “We can’t just give charity to kids because they so happen to have some prodigal talent. Quite frankly, I’m not really convinced on that note. Whatever talent you saw might have just been rehearsed procedure and nothing more.”

“What are you talking about?”

Bentley rolled away and settled back behind his desk. “According to Interpol’s records, there’s been a spike in youth crime around here over the past few months. Petty theft, vandalism, definite juvy-level stuff. The Parisian government commented it’s got ties to several foster homes in the area shutting down due to budget troubles.”

That wiped the grin off Sly’s face, a difficult task indeed.

“Yeah, bummer. Probably doesn’t bode well for your feathered felon friend. But justice has always had a tipped ratio that way – a new scumbag’s born every minute.”

If there was anything more difficult than erasing a grin from Sly Cooper’s face, it was upsetting or provoking him. Very few methods existed that could do it, and a cold dose of reality was no exception. Yet peering through the turtle’s thick lenses and only seeing the apparent final line in the sand for compromise, Sly gave a sterner look than any could say they’d ever seen from him.

“I get that, Bentley. I, of all people, get that.” He placed a humble hand to his chest. “But that doesn’t mean we should be okay with it. Yeah, there are a bunch of scumbags out there, but, hey, maybe this is my way of making sure there’s one less.”

The tension rose again as sparks began to surge between the gazes of mammal and reptile. Each time the one with the shell looked ready to speak, he clamped his mouth shut. Sly found that disturbing without question, but kept his own silence. In the fires set between their war of words, they had almost entirely forgotten their gargantuan getaway driver standing in the background. Without a trace of a full mouth, his voice rang like a bell of clarity. “Uh, maybe it wouldn’t be-“

They both looked at him. He paused, a bead of sweat running down his strangely stiff form.

“Well, not to trash on you guys, but having some new blood to pal around with would be pretty awesome. I mean, you know what they say, ‘the more the merrier.’”

“What!?” Bentley shrieked.

“Yeah, why not?” Murray swallowed up a tossed cookie. “Besides, if Sly says he’s cool, that’s good enough for me.”

Sly pumped his fist in triumph. “Yes! Two to one, I win! I’ll be back!” Sly almost warped out the front door, grabbing his cane and rushing out the door so quickly. A rush of air swirled behind him that combined with the door knocked books from the neighboring shelf and the food tower on the nearby couch to topple over.

That just left the lingering pressure in the room to find company between the seething turtle and the suddenly nervous-looking hippo.

No sooner was Sly out the door than he burst into one tremendous leap and swinging off on a nearby wire. The streets below his uplifted form had been cleared of police cars, even the most devoted officers deciding to call it quits and go home. For once, the lack of obstacles on the open road was a welcome change to Sly; as far as he was concerned, everything within the span of even the last few minutes was ancient history.

As he vaulted and swung on every pipe and cable at breakneck speed, his eyes remained peeled for any sign of his potential recruit. Same old dingy buildings and pungent perfumes, same shady thugs with cigars in overcoats. The repetition was quickly growing tiresome. In-depth scans with the Binocucom were turning up cold as well.

“Well, never count on getting lucky twice in a row.”

Just as the frustrated mutterings left his lips, yowls of cats and honking horns racing for his ears made way for another dilemma. He turned to the source of the noise just as the warning siren sounded in his mind.

There was a familiar sight that had stood out more than he had expected. The beggar youth in rags he’d spared a coin to earlier was still there on the street corner. It was almost no surprise to see him struggling for his meager scraps, but what drew out veins in his cane-gripping arm was the vicious-looking cat in opposing uniform trying to wrench the cup from his hand.

It was an uneven struggle from the start as he futilely pulled. “Get your hands off!”

“Fat chance, kid!” The cat officer yelled. “I got ‘alf a clue sayin’ you stole dis from some unsuspectin’ old lady.”

“Sure you wanna waste what little you’ve got on fantasies like that?”

“Maybe I should haul yer ass in for that smart mouth o’ yours on top of stealing!” The threat almost carried a chuckle in its tone. “Yer in enough trouble for resistin’ an officer of the law!”

The game of back and forth ended promptly for when the bully in blue grabbed the boy’s thin arm and tossed him to the ground. By the time he turned around, the cup’s rather decent contents, a small stack of dollars, were already stowed away in the officer’s pocket and out of reach. The officer gave a smug grin and tossed the empty cup carelessly at the boy’s head.

“Not a bad haul for a two-bit punk. Keep it up and you’ll be on Cooper’s level.”

“You son of a bitch!”

“Hehehe… sure can bark for a bird…”

He made the corner to leave the boy to wallow in defeat, yet in his glee the golden hook that reached into his back pocket and snatched the money right back out felt like little more than a slap of air. The boy’s surprise ring-tailed rescuer hung inverted from a clothesline by his heels giving a mock salute to him. The line tugged back and the raccoon sprung into the air only to land nimbly on his feet right before him with the reclaimed money in his hand.

“I believe this belongs to you?” He smiled.

The boy stared for a moment, but gently pushed the offering hand away. “The hell am I gonna do with that?”

“Hey, everybody needs more money these days.”

“Maybe, but even gum’s out of my price rage with that stuff.” The boy shrugged with his hands pocketed.

Sly looked utterly baffled at the boy’s refusal. Pride held nothing next to an empty stomach, and the money in his hand was worth at least a couple weeks’ worth of fast food. But one good look at the money and the boy’s stubbornness gained a light of sense. Though there was an uncanny resemblance, the dollars he had were nothing more than play money used with children’s toys, some even marked with crayon scribbles. The clueless corrupt officer clearly was unable to tell the difference, and Sly had to suppress amusement at how he nearly was the same.

“Wolves in sheepdog’s clothing, that’s the real fuzz. Always gotta stay one step ahead of ‘the law,’ or else all you’re left with is an empty cup and broken bones.” The boy turned and began to walk away, catching Sly’s ear with the fluttering of real dollars in his feathered hand.

Sly shook his head laughing. “Oh, that is good. That is TOO good… Though, I already knew you were that good.”

The boy stopped, his hood instantly caught by his reached-out cane. With a tug it was pulled back.

“… We meet again, birdie.”

Blake’s stunned look instantly went deadpan without even looking back at the master thief smirking down at him. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to be shocked or impressed? Because, don’t know if it’s all that shocking the great Sly Cooper saw through my little disguise.”

The raccoon picked up the empty cup by the handle and kept it raised by a finger. “Actually, this is the part where you tell me what’s up with you begging for coins when you’ve got the chops to steal whatever you want.”

“You’re not the first to ask, believe me.”

“Oh? Then am I just the only one you’ve given the cold shoulder to?”

Blake’s face was a vault under total lock and key, but Sly figured he had already gained the combination just from a few good looks. Pieces were already falling into place: the beggar act, the food raid, the apparent mistrust of any person over eighteen or in police uniform. Bentley’s news report from earlier also came back to him as the glue that linked them all together. It wasn’t a glamorous picture by any standard, in fact it made his tail droop at the thought.

“Look, I was trying to find you to tell you my offer still stands, and from what I can tell you clearly need it.” Sly spoke. “Maybe just a roof over your head sounds better than a big haul. I can see that.”

The raven only burst out in short fits of sardonic laughter. “Wha-seriously!? Y-You think I’m some kinda… street rat who, who sleeps in a box and chews on old wrappers or something?”

Sly blinked in surprise. “So… you’re not?”

“So I have pulled the wool over your eyes… guess I am as good as you think.”

“Wait, wait, wait. If you’re not homeless, why pretend you are? Why beg for coins if you can steal what you use them for? Seriously, what’s your angle here?”

“You’re getting a little obtuse about my angle.” An annoyed edge began to seep in.

“But-“

“WILL YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!?”

As if warping from sight, the raven boy burst into the sky and flew away. Sly was prepared despite his shock in spire jumping atop the street lamps onto the rooftops. Blake zig-zagged with ghostlike precision and gale-force speed around the buildings. He twirled and bounced from the side, aiming for the shadows, slinking around the lit windows to take advantage of his cloaked form.

But honed experience was still triumphant over inborn skill, putting Sly’s athleticism on par with such high velocity flight. A cane hook around an antenna, a slide down a clothesline, or a pole-vault up to somersault onto pole tips kept the feathered bullet within his sights. The chase was no more thrilling than it was invited, Sly could say, as he tried to logically glue together the re-scattered pieces. The motivation, the method, the boy himself, all darting in random directions but surely had to be leading somewhere.

“You’ve gotta see by now running’s pointless!” It almost hurt to goad just to try and slow him down. “Just stop and we can talk this out!”

“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand!?”

“Hey!” A rough voice called from below, followed by a stream of shock bullets. “Where do you scumbags think you’re runnin’ off ta?”

The corrupt cop from before was right on them in a moving squad car down below, crashing through alleyways and less than concerned with petty obstacles like brick walls. A more retro-looking shock pistol was in his hand – by now Sly wondered if those things were standard issue – and aimed right at Blake. From the look on his face, he had caught onto Blake’s ruse and was ready to deal a few hundred volts of vengeance.

Blake cartwheeled in the air just avoiding the bullets by mere feather fibers. “So this is what it’s like to be Paris’s Most Wanted.”

From behind his waist he pulled two bladed pistols shaped as crossbows outlined with a cutting silvery glow. Inverted, he locked onto the speeding car from below. The cop launched his electric rounds with nerves pulling the trigger. They collided like small fireworks as Blake blasted them dead center with arrowhead bullets.

The boy had the last laugh though as his volley came too quick to stop, blasting the tires of the squad car. Skidding along the road, it went careening into a lamppost. The fixture came crashing down shattering the sirens and windows with a crash.

“D-damn… brat…” He cursed before passing out.

Sly whistled. “Tennessee would be proud.”

“Well, I always aim to please.” The raven boy chuckled twirling his gun. “But I better be on my way. I’ll think of you whenever I see prison stripes.”

Sly sprung forward to catch up, but almost reading the air, Blake stopped him cold by blasting a fire hydrant down below. The resulting geyser made for a watery wall barring the master thief. From the rim of his cap held to shield him from the spray, Sly caught Blake hopping away on the rooftops. Every fiber in him screamed frustration, but all that came out was, by now, his trademark smirk.

“Oh… he is real good.”

* * *

 

There was an edge of Paris apart from it’s glamour, yet apart from it’s grime as well.

As Sly managed to track down Blake and keep on his trail again, he had noticed the surroundings begin to change. Buildings around him began to lose their vibrant colorings and street lamps flickered with dying lights. They showed in their intact moments large vines that had begun to run rampant along the concrete and stone surfaces, like claiming darkness regaining ground against light. Blake settled well in the shadows, calm enough to not notice him silently continuing the chase.

Yet at last it ended as Blake came up to a broken gateway, stone cracked and iron bars corroded. The inside was a place fitting for someone content to live as a shadow - a park long past its point of virescence. The trees stood overgrown and roots emerged from the ground, so thick even air could barely wriggle through. Any statues or structures meant for the pleasure of pedestrians were lost in sheets of moss and ivy or ravaged by time. Though the echoes of what might have been this place in its glory days, of vendors with treats and children laughing, were clear without need for imagination.

Wait.

.

Sly could actually hear children laughing.

The raccoon burst into the trees with silent steps. The challenge was at its hardest here, but he found Blake in a clearing, standing much like a strong tree himself amidst the tall grass. He put his feathered fingers to his beak and whistled.

And the eerie laughing began to grow louder. Sly picked up movement from the trees before the boy, shapes approaching with no delay. He raised his cane at the ready…

“Blake!”

“You’re back!”

“Yay!”

“Blake’s back! Blake’s back!”

“What’d you get us?”

A ring of lanterns hung from the trees sparked to light, a halo of innocence from fixtures with uniquely drawn designs. A small band of children gathered around Blake, all hopping excitedly and grabbing at his legs, some even jumping at him expecting him to catch them. The raven matched their joyful energy with a controlled smirk.

“All right, twerps. Show of hands – who’s been nice and who’s been naughty?”

The children bounced and laughed with near sugar-induced energy all pointing out cries of innocence. Blake cocked an eyebrow, but shook his head a second later. “No point in asking, right… how do you do it, St. Nick?”

“Blake, can I have some food?” A small canary boy, as timid as he was yellow, asked at the young raven’s feet.

“Sure, kiddo. I know you’re all starving. Just don’t go biting my feathers off.”

Sly stood amazed from his dark perch in the trees above their soft lights. He watched as the once guarded smirk became a warm and friendly smile, inviting all these wary young children to approach. It seemed to lessen in spirit with each parcel taken, noticing the young ones almost truly biting his feather for the bread and fruits and ravenously gobbling them down. But it remained nonetheless, watching their ragged forms lighten up with the comforting feeling of a full stomach, much like Murray.

The puzzle he had before was a twisted image with misplaced pieces, but now everything truly fit. It was this black-feathered misfit who was their wall of protection, their own Happy Camper Orphanage and everything that came with it. Sly couldn’t help but smile himself.

“Okay, so any o’ you porkers still running on empty?” Blake poked standing up. “Hands up if you haven’t gotten a meal.”

A white feathered hand grabbed his arm by the bicep and raised it high. “Here’s somebody.”

Blake spun around in half a heartbeat and stood tense but lowered his guard seeing the young female dove behind him. Her pure white down glowed with an angelic amber hue with the lanterns, yet feathers strayed out from the calm surface making him stare with a hint of guilt. The smile on her beak was a more genuine one that completely exposed his own as some cheap imitation. Like day followed night, her clear blue eyes never removed themselves from his suddenly more-ragged form.

“Daisy!” Blake noted with mock pleasure. “As always, you make me wonder who the nanny is here.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” The dove, Daisy, giggled. “I’m sure you’d look good in a cute pink bathrobe and slippers.”

“There’s a mental image that’ll never fade.”

After a pause, she sighed. “Though I guess the basis of that idea would be my role as the apparent stay-at-home mom.”

“Someone’s gotta put stolen bread on the table.” Blake’s good mood seemed to evaporate slightly as well. “Not to risk dragging this on like some married couple, but, can’t help the hours either.”

Her smile faded completely now with her feathers to her head. Her beautiful features gave way more to that ragged unkemptness by the second. “Can we talk in private?”

“… Why not?” Blake sighed.

The two stepped away, completely unnoticed by the hungry children. Sly locked onto the two birds and leapt through the trees with no more trace of his presence than a single falling leaf. He kept himself hidden at a fair distance as the two vanished behind a giant oak tree, easily outclassing all the others in size and age. Once all eyes were seemingly off, appearances were shed as the two let the apparent fatigue and stress weighing on them show in full sorrowful splendor.

“All right, what kept you? You’ve never taken this long on a supply run before.”

“I told you I’d be back, didn’t I?” He scratched his head. “I always come back.”

“I assumed you’d be back.” She cut in. “If nothing happens, you come back. And tah-rah-rah-boom-dee-ay, you came back again, except something happened, and at a time like now when we don’t need it happening. So what was it?”

“Nothing important, okay? I’m back. That’s all that matters.”

“You pissed off some cop, didn’t you?” Blake kept silent. “I knew it – always got to pick a fight with the law.”

“No, just the assholes toting it on their gaudy little belts. Guess we know where tax money’s going, by the way. Aside from the ever-essential Donut Fund.”

“Blake!”

Blake stuttered. “All right, naggy Nancy. You want my daily schedule again? Fine! I was late – call the national guard – but you can blame it on the ring-tailed Don Juan giving me an offer to go globe-trotting with his gang of master criminals!”

Sly nearly slipped from the branch.

Daisy blinked, astonished. “Ah, wh-what are you talking about? Who talked to you?”

“Do the initials ‘SC’ paint a picture?”

“Wait… you actually met THE Sly Cooper?” She raised her hands to her beak. “The master thief wanted in, like, every country in the world?”

“The one and, thankfully, the only.” Blake leaned against the tree, smirking at the dove’s tongue-tied expression. “He comes on with this whole ‘Most Interesting Man in the World’ routine thinking some starry-eyed punk wants a chance at the big leagues but all I had to say to that was ‘stay thirsty, my friend.’”

“So… you turned him down?” She asked slowly.

Blake cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “You almost sound disappointed… is there a hidden rebel in our precious angel after all?”

“Maybe, but I’d prefer your outer rebel keep his hands off it.” Daisy smiled. “And I’m not disappointed by the way. You’ve got more important things to do than stealing the Queen’s Jewels.”

“Like what, swiping her dinner?” Blake scoffed, not a trace of humor in his wry response. “It’s not like an allowance or whatever’s in the sack turns anything around for those kids, anyway. What’s the life lesson? Beg and you’ve got the world on a silver platter? It’s all dirty money, anyway. Heh… Cooper only scratched the surface.”

The two stood for a moment in silence. Sly felt a chill at the somber silence that had fallen upon the two who joked and playfully bantered only a moment ago. He waited for who would make the next move when Daisy spoke again. “W-Well, we won’t need to worry about all that soon enough, right.”

Blake grinned. “If you haven’t figured out by now this bad luck bird’s a trouble magnet, there is no hope.”

“Take it from another trouble magnet. Things could be a lot worse.”

The two birds jumped when Sly appeared in a shower of leaves from the branches, unable to help from announcing his presence. He put on no airs, no veils of suave wisdom, just a calm and gentle approach needed for two young people whose wings were apparently clipped by unnecessary burdens. The two just stood watching him, and he bore their rightful shock and suspicion as he felt was only natural.

“God, you just don’t know when to quit.” Blake sighed. “You ever considered going into politics?

“Uh, let me guess…” Daisy frowned. “Mr. Cooper?”

“’Mr. Cooper’ was my old man. Just Sly.” The raccoon coked his cane back. “And yeah, safe bet as to why I’m here.”

“About how many languages can I say ‘no’ in?” The raven seethed. “Seriously, I can say it in French too.”

“Say it in Swahili for all I care.” Sly smiled. “I’m gonna keep coming back and asking before I can get a yes out of you. Thooough I might even lay off for a maybe.”

“Okay, can we just run through something important again, like why you want me so badly?” Blake demanded. He tried to keep himself sturdy, but Sly could see cracks of desperation in his seemingly calm façade. “I’m just some run of the mill burglar. Maybe a jump up from some douche with a gun and a ski mask, but there’s the bar! Why!?”

The raccoon blinked. “I already told you. Because I think you’re good enough. You’ve got the skills, got the chops, and got the character. You fit the job description perfectly.”

The raven’s feathers bristled and he turned away in infuriated silence, glaring at some random patch of dry grass. Sly blinked again seeing his face clench, like every compliment he gave to the young prodigy was treated like an attack on his person, blasting boulders into the weak spots. Blake’s anger withered into exhaustive misery; it made Sly rack his brain behind his trained composure in wondering if there was a correct approach to take with the young raven.

Daisy’s words were the blade that severed the tension between the two. “Look… Mr. Cooper. The offer is… appreciated, but Blake has a life here, whether he wants to admit it or not. The last thing he needs is to become some full-fledged criminal.”

“You’ve already gotten an answer, after trying every approach outside of threatening me.” Blake said almost apathetically. “Now leave, and keep out of the kids’ sight. We’ve got a busy schedule here.”

“Yeah, your ‘angelic’ friend here mentioned this being a bad time.” Daisy blushed at the master thief’s comment.

“What a surprise you were eavesdropping.” Blake drawled. “But pretty much, we’ll be saying ‘adieu’ to this dump soon enough. I’m sure you can agree an abandoned park doesn’t exactly serve as a suitable environment for childcare.”

“Noted for when I discover the joys of parenting.”

“Just past here’s the docks. A trade ship there’s been loading cargo ready to set sail for the U.S. in a few days. Paris is throwing in the towel with orphans, so we’re jumping ship… onto a ship.”

Sly crossed his arms. “You’re sneaking all those kids onto a freighter filled with grouchy sailors undetected? Quite the task. Think you can pull it off?”

“You seem to think I can.”

There was that enjoyable heated gust of defiance again, Sly noted with a smile. It went past skill or technique, morals or ethics, yet encompassed it all at once, lost in the wild air that was the raven’s character. It was just as he had noted before when bearing fangs on it with Bentley: there was no logical, definitive reason he wanted some teenager on his team. He just wanted him because in every sense of the word, Blake was good.

“True enough…” Sly walked away, the windmills of his mind revolving with each step. “Well then, I’ll leave you to your great escape.”

“So you’re done pestering me?”

“Not even close.” He turned the corner around another tree and swung his cane to reach the branch, raising himself back into the veil of green above.

The two birds, almost rooted to the ground themselves in apprehension, returned to the other children who sparkled and swirled around them like drifting leaves. For a moment, they seemed to be walking on air surrounded by all the excited squeals and comments, though Blake quickly sank back to earth as he walked with almost lead feet, Sly noted with a mix of worry and amusement. His face turned away sporting a scowl as they made it to their series of tents past the clearing, with each child, young guardians included, returned to their makeshift abodes.

Blake pulled out a backpack from underneath his ratty, patched up sleeping bag while Daisy followed suit, though with far less aggression. The raven rummaged through his sack and forced various odds and ends from papers to snacks with a more forceful approach as if to mutilate what was inside. Daisy had only watched the ensuing storm in piteous apathy.

“Wild guess. You’re upset?”

“Thanks for noticing, Sigmund Freud.”

She shook her head. “Leave it to you to stew on ancient history. He asked, repeatedly, you said no. End of story, move on.”

“You think this is the end!?” Blake shouted. “This was the third time, and you heard he’s not settling for whatever I want to say on the matter. Then again, it’s just what you’d expect from some self-serving, two-bit, egotistical criminal. He’s just like all the rest of them out there.”

“You realize that makes you sound like an Interpol agent?” The dove chuckled in irony.

“Ugh! Don’t remind me!”

“Okay, so don’t mind me flipping it around – for curiosity’s sake, mind you – but why is it you keep turning him down?”

The assault of items stopped right there, and a long pause of silence came with it. Blake didn’t turn around, didn’t show his face, just remained almost frozen stiff with his feathers only slightly twitching to show there was still life. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I asked. Why are you saying no?”

Blake slammed his clawed feathers onto the beaten leather. “Come on… you’ve gotta… of all the…”

“I’ve known you since we were kids, out on the streets, turned away by every person at every door we ever knocked on.” The dove raised a soft wool blanket from her own pouch and stroked it tenderly. “You’ve said more than once that you wouldn’t wish that life on anyone, and so here you are, scraping by for a bunch of little kids that fate gave the cold shoulder to and ended up the same. Thieving aside, wouldn’t you want to join because you think you could be useful?”

Blake’s shoulders sagged, for once unable to hold up. Daisy moved the blanket to her lap and spared him any interrogating glance by keeping her eyes down upon her lap. “That is what you want, right? To be useful?”

“… What does it matter what I want?”

Daisy looked at him. “It matters more than you think.”

The dove solemnly watched him scramble for emotional stability. His eyes clamped open and shut like bear traps and his breathing was harder than that of a full-grown elephant. He reached out to grab the next item for his pack only to ghost the surface of some leather-bound book. The only thing that managed to snap the raven out of his internal war…

… were the sirens in the distance.

“W-What the!?” He startled.

Sly’s cane crept from the cover and pulled back, revealing the hanging raccoon. “Uh, you might want to get a move on, rebel leader. Interpol’s closing in.”

Daisy’s eyes widened considerably. “I-Interpol...?”

“That can’t be! I timed it just right!”

All three dashed from the tent and looked to the surveying road ahead. The echoes of the sirens were clear now and racing ever closer, even the trademark flashing lights viewable from the distance. Sly only looked to the two birds and found them frozen, even their downs as hard as steel with tension.

“I’d heard you guys had crashed Benedict’s casino on the other side of town…” The raven rasped. “Those lunkheads at Interpol were supposed to be all over it while I made that last run. Dammit! Now of all times, they pay attention to a bunch of scraggly orphans!”

“Why ARE they coming here?” Daisy asked. “Pissing off cops is normal for you, but calling in a whole squadron!? Did you blow something up or what!?”

Blake looked away with a taut grimace on his beak, tightening the one on hers further.

“I’m a little curious about that myself. Takes a lot more than busting someone’s car to cause this.” Sly poked. “...My pal mentioned something about a bit of a spike in youth crime recently. I take it that has something to do with you?”

“... I’d been hitting that warehouse district for a few weeks now, stocking up… guess I got sloppy at some point.” The raven’s face softened in defeat. “Guess I’m really not the prodigal thief you thought I was…”

“What are we going to do?” Daisy asked.

At once the children emerged from their tents, some clamoring onto each other to see the approaching cars. Many of them began to mumble, cry out in panic, teeter between the trees, their guardians, or their tents for cover or some combination of the three. Daisy gathered the children and did as best she could to calm the ever-growing panic by offering shushes and head rubs in between all the intelligible comments.

“You may be able to get the tykes out of here before the cops show up, but no way are you gonna be able to keep them hidden.” Sly advised. “Let alone sneak them all the way to the dock.”

“...Then there’s only one thing left to do.”

Sly, who had focused solely on the approaching police squadron, turned to him. “What? You’re going through with it?”

Blake shrugged. “It really is America or bust, now…”

“Yeah, hate to keep raining on your parade, but just so you know the crews brought in some extra manpower to get their cargo loaded up quick.” Sly pointed his cane towards the ocean, where plumes of smoke could already be seen filling the air. “Looks like they’ll be leaving any minute now.”

Blake’s black feathers could have turned as white as Daisy’s in that moment. “W-What!? No way! I-I had it planned-“

“Rule 1 of being a thief, kid. Be ready for anything.”

The raven only stared back, shoulders tense with fury but limp with dread. It was a look the master thief had seen on many of his gang’s targets over the years, once the job had been done and he had bounded off with their hordes. It faded into shadow as Blake bowed his head, relieving him of the sight while it still freshly burned in memory. For an endless moment, only his heavy breaths and the sounds of the sirens were heard, both loudening in the span of it.

Blake clenched his fist and rose his head, a defiant ghost of a smirk to Sly’s admission of reality. It almost got a flinch out of him. “Noted.”

Both looked to Daisy and the children, only the former looking back while the little ones shut their eyes and huddled into each others’ masses. The black bird sighed, tightened his scarf and turned away. He spread his wings and shot towards the tops of the trees to see the charging squadron of cars and their flashing lights ahead.

Sly joined him, landing atop the closest branch. “Look, let me help out here. I might be able to buy you some time.”

“I don’t need your help.” Blake didn’t even look at him.

“You don’t have the luxury to be stubborn here!”

“I’m a bad luck bird. I’ve never had any kind of luxury, and I’ve come to terms with that. Now butt out.”

The two looked down and saw the others sneak into the trees toward the end of the park. The last of them managed to sneak away just as the officers finally arrived at the entrance and broke down the withered metal gate in one fell swoop.

It really was all or nothing now.

* * *

 

A normal edge of the town for Sly where buildings and gardens morphed into boats and gangplanks was the goal line for the herd of runaway children. They ran along the shadows and ducked beneath windows as quickly as they could, leaving any light to the gathering moths. Any stragglers that tripped along their hastily tied shoelaces were picked up by Blake before they could hit the ground and brought back on the run, or even before Sly could make the move himself. It was admirable, if not irritating for him to only be left to run and observe.

True to Sly’s intel, the freighter they were aiming for had been loaded to the deck with crates, the thick stack of moonlit-wrapped smoke flashing amidst plumes their final warning. Just as the entire group made it past the final street, they darted into an old and boarded-up warehouse, with the three elders watching for stray heads from the young. Best their wandering eyes not meet the watching gazes of the multitude of bulky gorilla sailors.

Blake took a step past and stood at the entrance with a gun raised. He looked to Daisy, her face painted with worry. “I’m gonna draw them out. Buy you guys some time.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“When I give the signal, make a run for the boat. There should still be a little time before they set off.”

Daisy’s disbelief was only paused by the horn sounding from the boat. “And that’s not a big ‘time’s up’ for you? You’ll just get beaten up by a bunch of gorillas for nothing! Blake, it’s over!”

“It’s not over until that boat’s out of the dock! We’re too close to turn back!”

“But-“

Blake’s hand grabbed hers. “I told you I was going to get you out of here, away from them! And that’s what I’m going to do!”

Before she could even protest, the young raven was out in a flash of feathers. Sly looked to her, seeing that protest might not have been on her mind with the flash of hope in her eyes. He quickly followed out and spire landed on a nearby pole, then bounded to join Blake as he bounced and soared past stacks of containers. The two maintained equal distance and pace as they remained on the move, with the raccoon keeping his eye on him as fixed as he kept his eye on the path ahead.

“She’s right, you know.” He chimed in, vaulting off his cane and sliding down the rope on a nearby boat. “You’re cutting it pretty close here.”

“With an attitude like that, I’m surprised the only stripes you got are the ones on your tail.”

“I’m serious. You’re probably not gonna make it.”

Blake paid no mind and surged forward, like the veteran thief wasn’t even there. He dove down with grace and speed, but switched to a flurry of slashes and bullets in an instant. The crewmen on the docks had no time to react before they were downed one by one like dominoes, even as those watching took notice and rushed to swarm the boy with clenched hands and angry glares. Blake dodged and vaulted around each of them like swirling wind, though his own focus trailed just the same.

The blare of the horn all but seized his attention away from the sailors, allowing them to regain the momentum. Little by little, the raven found himself pushed back with less and less resistance to counter.

“No…!”

He struggled from underneath a mountain of hairy gorilla bodies, but the weight was too much. The remainder of sailors climbed aboard while a handful kept him pressed down to the point splinters could hold him in place. All he could do was watch as his hopes slowly set sail from the dock.

One gorilla laughed with a hoot until a sharp blow to the head knocked him out, with all the others joined him. Sly pulled the broken youth up and shook him. “Get it together, kid. We’ve gotta go!”

“Wha…?”

Though the ship’s horn still echoed in their heads, approaching sirens were becoming more prevalent. Daisy and the children arrived with the coast clear of hostile sailors, all looking to him with fearful eyes. For a moment, the raven turned his gaze back to the departing boat in vain faith, though hearing their cries turned him back to stark reality.

“I’m scared…”

“Blake, are we gonna get taken…?”

“Can we… go home?”

Sly sympathized with the youth, a victory just narrowly seized only to slip away, and it only became worse with even his loved ones telling him to surrender. But reality offered the greater benefit to what was undoubtedly a foolish pipe dream now, and so grabbed the youngest child and shoved him in Blake’s arms. A look offering solace was all he could give to him now.

How the dock didn’t just collapse with the sudden arrival of ten or so police cars angrily swerved onto it was nothing short of a miracle. Dozens of Interpol agents came out with grips on their shock pistols so hard the handles might have snapped from the pressure. Like gas they fanned out searching every inch of the dock for the criminals their squadron leader had reports on. Said leader came barreling out of the car, the same tubby cat who had harassed Blake earlier, with a deeper scowl than anything any donut could fix.

“Where is he!? I know he’s here!”

“Sargent, are you sure those reports were accurate?” An officer asked.

“Whadaya think did all this? A pigeon!?” He gestured to the broken dock. “We got confirmation from the dock workers, so when ya track him down, you can add ‘assault’ to da list o’ charges!”

“Sir, we’re supposed to be finishing up the casino shutdown. Inspector Fox won’t approve-“

“Screw dat bitch! She wants ta play cleanup, dat’s her business! I know dat brat is here and nobody’s leavin’ ‘till we catch ‘im and throw ‘im in the darkest hole we got! Now keep lookin!”

All the surrounding officers sighed before they continued their work, the cat cop clearly more vigilant in his hunt for a juvenile than any of them. They assisted the workers in making any repairs and tending to the wounded while the cat just shouted more profanities and concocted more charges in rage. The other officers soon grew tired of the fruitless search as well as their sergeants endless string of insults, and eventually hopped in their cars and drove away, with his screams of indignance trailing behind them along with his squad car.

The pitiful hunt driven by petty grudges wasn’t even of note to the target himself, looking from a warehouse roof that he and the others escaped to in the nick of time. All Blake could see was the sailing boat still in sight with his plumes of smoke blotting out the night sky. Sly stood beside him and gave him silence he no doubt needed to get his mind back in working order.

“Just like that… months of planning and dreaming… up in smoke.”

“Well, if at first you don’t succeed...” Sly quipped innocently.

The glare Blake shot him could literally have done him in like a bullet. “Really?”

 

Sly concealed his regretful grimace with the rim of his cap. “Uh, right. Not helping…” He inhaled and put a hand to the bird’s shoulder. “Blake. I’ve seen how important this is to you, and helping out family is something I get, believe it or not. So, I think I can help you out here.”

“How generous… or not.” Blake eyed suspiciously. “I’m waiting for the catch.”

“Right. My gang and I are looking into something right now, and it could lead to something big. And I have a gut feeling that it will be. You help us out on this one job, just one, and I will personally see to it you and these kids a one-way ticket to the States. You can do whatever you want after without me knocking on your door.” He extended an open hand. “So… deal?”

The raven’s downcast eyes shifted away like static; Sly could almost see the millions of pigments of thoughts scrambling in his head. He almost looked to be trying to conceive reasons to refuse, though all he could do to placate them was give his hand and his word with it. That open honesty was what he hoped finally drew Blake’s attention back and make him stare at the open palm for the longest time.

“Way to pitch when I’m desperate. You should consider a career in sales…” He quipped.

“The only thing I’m giving out is opportunity.”

Blake exhaled, and slowly, but finally, shook the master thief’s hand. “Let’s not go that far, but fine. Deal.”

Sly swore he hadn’t felt the sudden rise inside him since the day he and his longtime friends began their careers as criminals. With Blake’s feathered hand in his, some great milestone in his journey was cemented, hardened with promise and potential. After finally shaking enough for the young raven’s preference, he took a glittering plate from his pocket and placed it in Blake’s now empty palm.

“To make it official.”

“I feel so fulfilled.” The raven quipped and pocketed the item. As if the spotlight dimmed from him and his new ring-tailed partner in crime, he turned back to Daisy and the children, all staring at him. “Daisy, guys, uh…”

“You’re really going through with this, aren’t you?” Daisy solemnly asked.

“Are you gonna leave us, Blake?” A child asked.

The blunt question gained a clear reaction from the bird as far as Sly could see, but he quickly swallowed it.

“Yeah, for a while.” Blake’s confirmation left tears ready to form in each little one’s eyes. All the raven could do was to kneel and place his hand on the head of the asking child. “But I’ll be back. Count on that.” Sly noticed the last part was directed towards the dove, but found himself on point when he turned back to him.

“It’s on you if I don’t have a proper homecoming for these twerps.”

The raccoon popped his cane and held it back. “I’ll have you home in time for dinner.”

A beep suddenly rang from his ear; he pressed the button on his communicator to hear Bentley’s voice chime in. _“Sly! Come in, Sly!”_

“Bentley! Good news, I take it?”

_“I’ll get to it right after I chew you out for being so late! Where have you been? I was that close to having Murray hunt you down!”_

“Save the fun stuff for Carmelita. So, what do you got.”

Bentley’s tired sigh almost garnered interference – Sly had never felt so relieved to have a volume setting on his earpiece. _“I’ve run an extensive number of tests on the card, and I’ve found some clues indicating a possible source. Head back to the Safehouse and I’ll brief you and Murray on the details.”_

“Sounds good.” Sly smiled. “Oh, and Bentley?”

_“Yeah?”_

Sly looked to Blake and smirked. “Tell Murray to make room in the van. I’m bringing one more.”

_“… I hate you so much.”_

_It took every ounce of charm and persuasiveness I had, but the Cooper Gang managed to score a new member._

_I wanted to keep my word and I had every intention to, but I would only hope Blake’s time with us would give him inspiration to stay on as a full-fledged member. It’s not in keeping with my criminal demeanor but I was honest when I said he had potential and it would be a waste for him not to make the most of it. Other than that, the kid called it – I don’t really take no for an answer._

_We got back to the hideout and mostly he just laid back with Murray while I tried to keep Bentley from going atomic bomb on my tail. Not that I blamed him; a new member at this point was like adding a new piece to a finished puzzle. He settled down by the time we got to the briefing but this wasn’t the end of it._

_And I agreed. This was just the beginning._

**Author's Note:**

> I feel good about this story because it has spent a little more time in the planning stages. I want to spread this out as much as I can, since the Sly Cooper fandom isn't that active in a lot of places, especially on Fanfiction. The most activity seems to be around YouTube and the Amino community app.
> 
> I just got this started not that long ago. Hope you enjoy it.


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